


I Find the Dark in You

by Goldy



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:54:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,674
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23248066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Goldy/pseuds/Goldy
Summary: She wouldn’t see him until she could be sure it wasn’t her. Set during 4x14, How to Get Away With Murder.  The parts we didn't see.
Relationships: Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 10
Kudos: 79
Collections: 7th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees





	I Find the Dark in You

_It’s commonly known as Devil’s Breath…_

It has been almost two days since Betty blacked out and woke up over Jughead’s body, her hand wrapped around a bloodied rock.

_When inhaled, it leaves the victim disoriented but completely unaware…_

Two days and she hasn’t seen him. She has barely dared to ask Charles how he was doing. She was too scared that there was a part of her, the _dark_ part, the part that _could do this_ , that would find its way back out and… finish the job.

She doesn’t know where he is and Charles hasn’t told her. She can’t be allowed to see him. The only way she can be sure to protect him is by staying away.

_Much more likely, she put the rock in your hand herself and spun you like a top…_

The words are spinning around Betty’s head. She exhales and slouches down in her chair, cradling her face in her hands. Hot tears press against the back of her eyes but she swallows them back, swallows them down. _Enough_. She’s done enough crying.

Her mind focuses, her thoughts suddenly crystal clear: _this wasn’t her._ Those Stonies… the _preppies_ – _they_ did this. They sprayed powder in her face, they _drugged_ her and then they tried to murder Jughead, _her Jughead_ , and planted the murder weapon in her hand.

Anger wells up inside of her until her hands arms and hands are shaking and her teeth clench violently together.

“Betty?”

It’s Veronica. Her voice is tentative, concerned. Betty feels a hysterical laugh bubbling up inside of her – and they did a good job at it, hadn’t they? They had her own friends doubting her. Her _best_ friends. They made her doubt herself. They made her think that she could have hurt him, hurt Jughead, and for _that_ … for that, she _will_ make them pay.

Betty swallows down the laugh and lifts her head up. Veronica is standing over her, brow furrowed. From across the room, Archie looks concerned but also a little nervous like she’s a rabid dog and he doesn’t know if she needs some care and understanding or she should be locked up in a cage with the key thrown away.

He's been looking at her a lot like that the last couple of days.

“It wasn’t me,” Betty says. The tears are still pressing against her eyes, but the corners of her lips are turning up into a bitter smile. “It wasn’t me,” she repeats. She looks at Veronica, over to Archie, then back at Charles. “It was the Preppies the whole time.” She pauses. “And Donna was their ringleader. She orchestrated the whole thing. That’s why she was the one who pulled me away. Distracted me. Blew that… whatever you called it, that Devil’s Breath, in my face.”

Archie still looks uneasy, but Veronica is nodding. “Okay, B, okay,” she says. Her suspicion is completely gone. “Whatever you need. We’re behind you in this.” She shoots Archie a sharp look. “Right Archie?”

Archie nods in a mechanical way. “Right,” he says. “We’re here for you, Betty. You and Jughead. Whatever you need.” He clears his throat and then to Charles, he says, “How is he?”

Charles smiles. “Actually, I was just about to get to that. The news is good, Archie. Jughead is going to pull through this.”

Veronica audibly gasps, but Betty has gone ridged, sitting straight in her chair.

“He’s going to wake up?” says Veronica. “He’ll be okay?”

Betty answers before Charles can. “ _Pull through_ ,” she says bitterly. “That can mean a lot of things. Doesn’t it, Charles? He might survive but they still hit him with enough force to knock the brains out of his head.”

Charles looks uncomfortable. “He’s not awake… not yet,” he says. “And Betty is right. He still suffered a massive blow to the head. It’s too soon to say what kind of recovery he’ll make.”

Archie says, “Are you saying he could wake up from this only to spend the rest of his life drooling into a cup?”

Betty stands up. “That’s exactly what he’s saying, Arch.” She clenches her hands into fists, her nails digging deeply into the palm of her hands. She hasn’t done that since… since shortly after she and Jughead started dating. She exhales sharply. She needs the pain now. It settles her. Helps her think straight. “Where is he, Charles?” she says. “I need to see him. I need to…” her breath hitches. “We _will_ take down the Stonies for this, believe me, but now… I need to be with him.”

Charles nods. “He’s somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar.”

“Good,” says Betty. “Tell me.”

***

Dilton Doiley’s bunker always smelled dank and musty. The smell reminded Betty of the old, brown couch in her grandmother’s cramped living room back when her grandmother was still alive. There was something repellant about the smell, but something comforting too, of old familiarity and times gone by.

The smell is the first thing that greets Betty as she climbs down the ladder, Archie and Veronica following closely behind her.

“Jug?” she calls. She lands on her feet at the bottom and then straightens up, wiping dust from her hands off on her jeans.

She peers into the bunker, eyes adjusting to the muted light. Jughead is lying on the bed, blankets pulled up to his chin. Betty takes halting steps over to him. She had expected medical equipment – a heart monitor or oxygen tank or something. But there is nothing. Charles had said that he was breathing on his own, but… it felt like there should be _something_.

She reaches his bedside and then collapses down to her haunches. Her eyes track the covers pulled up tightly to his chin, his chest rising and falling reassuringly beneath the covers. Then her eyes tick to the red gouge on his forehead. Angry stiches stand out across his wound, his hair splayed messily over his face and pillow. He isn’t wearing his beanie – of course he isn’t – and that makes him feel naked, vulnerable somehow, as if exposed to the world. 

“I guess those FBI medics charge for the hour,” Veronica murmurs from behind her. “I thought Charles said he would be looked after?”

“Ronnie, they saved his life,” says Archie. “I’m sure they wouldn’t have left him down here if there was more they could do for him.”

Betty expels a harsh breath and with shaking fingers, she traces the outline of the scar on Jughead’s forehead, fingers brushing against his hairline. Jughead moans in his sleep, his nose twitching, and then he turns his head as if seeking her out. Betty freezes, fingers still hovering over his scar.

“Jug?” she whispers. “Jug, it’s me. Wake up. Please wake up.”

She feels embarrassed at the naked vulnerability in her voice in front of Archie and Veronica. But she focuses her gaze on Jughead, hardly daring to breathe. Next to her, Archie and Veronica are similarly still.

Jughead doesn’t move again.

Betty releases her breath and draws her hand back. “Can you guys stay with him?” she says. “He shouldn’t be alone. And I… I have someone to see.”

“Of course,” says Veronica. “But, B… shouldn’t it be you? If Jughead wakes up, you’re the only person he’s going to want.”

Betty is shaking her head. “I have things to do. Things that will help him.” She looks over at her friends. They both look stunned like they are having trouble coming to terms with how much their lives have changed in just a few hours. Archie’s jaw is working as he stares at Jughead’s prone body. “You’re the only two people I trust to look out for him,” she adds.

“Betty, you know we’ll look after him,” says Archie. “But I have to ask – what’s more important than Jughead right now?”

Betty sets her jaw. “The people who did this to him.”

****

Jughead’s first thought is that he is burning up. He feels like someone has rolled him in a tight, itchy blanket and planted him next to a roaring fire.

He tries to move his arms to pull the blankets down, but his arms won’t cooperate. They feel heavy, planted to his sides. He focuses and tries again – tries to focus on his hand, on his fingers, curling his fingers together. Then he feels something – a _twitch_ – and that feels like success. He concentrates more and he feels it again, his fingers, curling into his palm.

He unfurls his hand and brushes against something – no, _someone_. Someone else’s hand. Perfume fills the air – soft and flowery like fresh cut roses on a breezy summer day. Familiar, but not familiar. _Who…_?

He tries to move his lips. “ _Betty_ ,” he says – or _thinks_ he says. Sounds comes out, but it’s more of a croak than a distinguishable word.

“Jughead?!” says a voice – loud, _too_ loud. The voice is female and the perfume surrounds him again – still familiar, but not quite right, not quite Betty.

He forces himself to open his eyes. Light blinds him and he blinks furiously. Pain explodes across his forehead and eyes. It feels like someone is trying to push a pencil through his eyes and through the other side of his head. He grunts, trying not ot cry out.

Someone clamps down on his hand. “Jughead?” this time the voice is deep and male. _Archie_. “Hey, Jug. It’s us. Archie and Veronica. Are you with us?”

“Betty,” he says again and this time his voice sounds like his own. His vision swims and then clears – he sees Veronica peering down at him and then Archie. He stares at them, the pain still building in his head, dread building in his gut. Where is she?

Archie seems to see some of the panic building on his face. “Betty’s fine, Jug,” he says quickly. “She’ll be here soon. She’s just…”

“Out trying to catch your attempted murderers,” says Veronica. “That’s pretty much her only goal in life these days.”

Betty is where? Doing what? On her _own_? And they just… _let_ her go up against the Stonewall Preppies?

He tries to push himself up to his haunches. A wave of dizziness passes over him and he stops, sucking in a tight breath. Pain stiches into his side from the effort.

“Whoa there,” says Veronica, looking concerned. “What are you doing?”

“We have to find her,” Jughead says. He’s pushing at the blankets now, trying to throw them off his body. He still feels so damn _hot_. “Bret and Joan and Donna – they did this. They’re capable of anything. Murder.”

“Well aware of that, Jughead,” says Veronica. Her hand goes to his chest and she presses him gently back down onto the bed. “You’ve been out for a while. There’s some catching up to do.” She looks over at Archie. “Call Betty,” she says. “She needs to get here. Now.”

Archie nods and stands up, heading to the exit while holding up his phone, looking for reception.

Jughead’s limbs feel heavy and uncoordinated and his head is absolutely _pounding_. He grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to ignore the pulsating in his head. He opens his eyes again and looks around him.

“We’re in the bunker,” he says.

“We needed a safe place to hide you,” Veronica explains. “After what happened… Betty and Charles didn’t want to risk the Preppies coming back to finish the job.”

“Smart thinking,” says Jughead with a groan. “Who else knows?”

“Right now? Just us and Charles. That’s it.”

Jughead forces himself to nod. “Okay. Good. We can still get ahead of them.” He throws his arm across his face. Now his stomach is heaving. He is going to puke. He doesn’t know if he has the strength to puke. “How long was I out?”

“It’s been almost two days, Jughead,” says Veronica softly. “We didn’t know… well, we didn’t know if you would make it. And if you did make it, what kind of shape you would be in.” She pauses. “What’s your last name?”

“Jones,” he says with a faint smile. His stomach heaves again. How can he puke if he hasn’t eaten anything in two days? He forces the bile down his throat. “How is she?” he asks.

Veronica sighs. “I’m not going to lie, Jughead,” she says. “I’ve never seen her like this. So… angry.”

He presses his eyes against his arm as another wave of nausea sweeps through him. From the other end of the bunker, he hears Archie’s voice, loud and frantic. “Betty, thank god. It’s Jughead. He’s awake.”

Jughead doesn’t know what Archie says after that because suddenly he _is_ puking. He barely manages to get himself rolled over on his side before bile and stomach acid spews up from his stomach and all over Veronica’s _very_ expensive, very shiny shoes.

It seems to go on and on – how _much_ can there really be? – and finally his stomach quells. He stays on his side, panting and tasting vomit in his mouth. Veronica stands, stunned, staring down at the mess he made of her shoes. Finally, she gingerly takes a step backwards, and then another step.

“Sure Betty,” she murmurs. “We’ll stay with him while you go after the Preppies. No problem.”

“Sorry,” says Jughead, but he is too exhausted to feel embarrassed. Spots dance across his vision and he flops back against the pillow, darkness pressing down around him.

***

Betty is marching, almost jogging back to the bunker. She stumbles to a stop when she finds Archie leaning against the hatch, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans. 

“Did you find what you were looking for?” he demands as she approaches. He sounds impatient with her, almost angry, _very_ un-Archie like.

She comes to a stop. “I saw Donna,” she says in explanation. “They think they have it all figured out, but if Jughead is really awake then we – ”

“You should have seen the hope in his eyes when he woke up,” he interrupts. “He was in pain and confused but the first thing he did was ask for you. He wanted _you_ when he woke up, Betty. Not me. Not Veronica.”

“And he _has_ me,” says Betty. “What do you think, Archie? That I was off joy-riding?” She steps closer to him. “I have to stay on them,” she hisses. “If we don’t follow this through then they will catch wind that he is still alive. And I will _not_ let them finish what they started.”

Archie sighs and closes his eyes. “I know,” he says. “I just wish…”

“That we could go a year without someone plotting to kill us?” Betty says, cracking a smile. “Yeah, me too. But we live in Riverdale.”

He manages a tight smile. “Betty, when he woke up, he was in a lot of pain, but I think… I think he’s still Jughead.”

The wave of relief that sweeps through Betty leaves her lightheaded. She wants to sit down and process this, this first bit of good news they’ve had in a while. Instead she stays standing, stays firmly planted on her feet. Now is not the time to rest.

“Thank god,” she whispers.

Archie continues. “Veronica went home. There was an incident involving the contents of Jughead’s stomach and Veronica’s Dolce & Gabbana shoes.”

“Oh my god,” she says. “Is he okay?”

“Jughead seems fine. Veronica on the other hand…”

Betty snorts. “Go,” she says. “Be with your girlfriend in her time of need. I’ll stay with him this time.”

Archie nods. “Good. We’ll meet at Pop’s to discuss next steps?”

“We will,” says Betty as she opens the hatch to the bunker.

This time the mustiness of the bunker is tinged with the hint of vomit and stomach acid. She wrinkles her nose as she climbs down. They have _got_ to find a way to air this place out if Jughead is going to be living in it for the next few weeks.

“Jug?” she calls.

Quiet greets her and she shuffles over to his bedside before dropping down to her haunches. He’s fast asleep, his mouth gaping open slightly as he breathes in and out. Other than the stitching on his forehead, he looks peaceful.

She reaches for his hand, cradles it in between two of her hands, still watching his face, watching him breathe.

He snorts and his face twitches. Then she can see the moment that he wakes up. His hand moves in hers, his eyes flutter open. He looks confused, blinks, and then his gaze finds her. Slow hope blossoms across his face.

“Betty,” he whispers, voice no more than a rasp.

She feels a smile spread across her face. “Hey.”

A responding smile grows across his lips. “So,” he says, still in a rasping voice. “Have you cleared your name yet?”

She quirks an eyebrow. “How did you know that they tried to blame it on me?”

Jughead pushes at his covers and struggles to sit up. She winces as he pushes himself to his forearms and then keeps going, finally managing to force himself to a sitting position. Betty helps him arrange the pillow behind his back and he flops back against it, breathing heavily and staring at the ceiling.

She hands him a water bottle which he takes with greedy hands. “Small sips only,” she cautions him. “We don’t need a repeat of earlier.”

Jughead eyes the water bottle like he wants to down all of it at once, but he takes only a small sip before lowering it again. He tilts his head back and sighs.

“Jug, are you okay?” she says tentatively. “Maybe we should get Charles’ med team back in here.”

“I’m fine,” he says. “Just a bit dizzy. A concussion maybe. But I’ll heal.” He shakes his head as if shaking away the cobwebs clouding his brain. “They’ve been planning this for a long time, Betty. Maybe from the first moment I stepped foot in that school. It makes sense to blame you. They know you were there that night. They know about your dad.”

“The daughter of the Black Hood,” she says bitterly. “The perfect target.”

She looks down at the bed, feeling tears welling in her eyes. Her mind is slowing and becoming confused – how long has it been since she last slept? She can’t remember. She just knew she had to get keep moving, keep pressing forward. _Don’t think about it_ , she told herself over and over again. _Don’t think about Jughead’s body. Don’t think about the rock, about… about what I did._

“Betty?” says Jughead and he feels far away, muffled, like she’s underwater and she doesn’t have the strength to swim to the surface. His hands are on hers and his voice comes in a little louder, a little clearer. “Betty, when was the last time you slept?”

She shakes her head, the first of the tears sliding down her cheek, off her chin and landing on the bed. _Plop_. Another tear follows it. She wipes uselessly at her cheek with her elbow, willing the tears to stop.

“They drugged me, Jug,” she whispers, voice cracking with tears. “The last thing I remembered was talking to Donna and then I was… I was standing over you…”

His hands tighten against hers. “I know. I remember.”

“I thought…”

“I know you would never hurt me.”

“Sometimes I lose myself, Jug,” she says. She feels ashamed as the words come out of her. She has never told anyone this. “Donna said that Evelyn told her a trigger word, a word that could make me hurt the people I loved. What if that’s true?”

“Betty,” his voice is a sigh. “Hey, come on. You know I’m the first person to latch on to a conspiracy theory. But brainwashing on the level that you’re talking about… that’s beyond anything the Farm had the resources to do.”

“I wanted to believe that,” she says, voice heavy with tears. “But I’ll never forget what that was like. Waking up with that rock in my hand and seeing you like that.” Her voice hardened. “Jug, we can’t let them get away with it.”

“Hey, come on,” he says with a slow smile. “How many murders have we solved together? This is nothing. Amateur. They couldn’t even kill me properly.”

He almost sounds disappointed.

She sucks in a shaky breath. “I know,” she says. Then, “I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He holds her gaze. “Me too.” He takes another sip of water and then shifts over on the bed before patting the space next to him. “Before we take this any further, you need to get some rest.”

He’s right and she knows it. She nods, wiping the last of the tears from her cheeks. She climbs into the bed tentatively – it’s never felt too small for both of them before, but he still feels fragile and she can’t bear to do anything to hurt him. But she manages to snuggle in next to him, her legs pressed up against his, her head coming down to rest against his chest. Jughead’s arms come down around her and he sighs, a relaxed sound that reverberates through his chest and against her ear.

She closes her eyes, feeling sleep beckoning at her. He takes another sip of water and she feels him swallow. He smells of medical equipment and stale air and, _yes_ , faintly of vomit from earlier. She doesn’t care, though. He’s alive and he’s holding her and he’s himself.

“Just a few hours of sleep,” she murmurs. “I’ve got an idea for our next move. I’m meeting Archie and Veronica at the diner.”

“A few hours,” Jughead assures her and he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Start with a few hours.”

She nods, sleep pulling her down. She meant what she said, though. When she wakes up, she has plans. They’re going to take them down. They’re going to take them all down.


End file.
